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Instructions:
  1. Click on any one of the above 33,120 placemarks.
  2. Click "BUY NOW," to purchase them.
  3. Allow five business days for a placemark to be updated with the name, address, and email provided to me through your purchase.
  4. When all marks have been sold (total of $32,788.80), all money, less taxes, will be divided amongst two groups:
    a) One lucky buyer chosen by lottery, and
    b) Xe Services LLC (aka Blackwater Worldwide) -- failing that, something else equally reprehensible and destructive.
  5. The more you buy, the more likely you are to win.
  6. Happy buying!†

† This is a joke. As serious as a joke.

The delusional logic of Fred Phelps and the Westboro Baptist Church implies that all negative things occurring today are the result of a god so angry that, rather than up and incinerate everything in two seconds flat, has opted to be slow, indiscriminate, and lazy about it, and instead to destroy his creation at the same speed with which they are already capable of killing themselves. By this logic, the destructive powers of god will increase with greater funding to the business entities responsible for the development of those weapons. Let's do just that.

Delusional twice: since no one can prove that god isn't responsible for headless soldiers, dead faggots, and the like, it must be true - god must be responsible, and we as small cattle must simply make do and atone for our sins in hopes that he'll one day lay off, and go spend his time doing something productive into a bathtub plug hole.

Taking both as truth, I am given two things, both of which are further untrue:

  1. By siding myself with a negative intent involving an already occurring phenomena (in this case, the wish to "PLEASE MAKE PEOPLE DIE HERE" is moot, as people already are), it becomes impossible to prove that I am not then responsible for those deaths, and
  2. If the global death rate is 1.78 people/sec, then the rate at which people die is bested only by the amount of rainfall in a place like Seattle, in April. If April showers bring May flowers, then rain happens for our benefit, and thus it can be said that all these people die for our benefit, too.

Here, however, that death rate is the product of a framework for the appropriation of an infinite stream of readymades; insofar as mankind exists, art will be made, and the above file will continue to "regenerate" itself at the same speed with which the flesh and blood it represents is capable of extinguishing itself. Art exists for us, by us, and murder after the fact should be looked at aesthetically (see Thomas de Quincey's On Murder, Considered as One of the Fine Arts). Can it be argued that Marinetti and Phelps are one and the same, just a little less than a century apart? Not really, but he's a hungry god, after all, and it's the potential, not the fact of it, that pisses us off. After all, all that's required is that claim; all you need is that gall, those balls, onto which all hatred of Fred Phelps has latched.

So this is a fist, an insult. This is a joke; you, dying, do so because I wished it.